“Christ,” I groaned. “Look, I can’t do this right now, okay? I need to get out of here. And I need you to do me a favor and change my schedule so we’re not here at the same time again.”
Kent didn’t drop my gaze as he came around the desk and only stopped when he was inches away from me. “Heath,” he said very softly and more kindly than I was prepared to handle right then. “Did he do something?”
“Yes.” I stopped, then shook my head. “No. Well…yes, but no.”
Kent rolled his eyes. “Start making sense, please.”
I groaned again and curled my free hand into a fist. “Seriously, I can’t right now, okay? I just need to get out of here.”
Kent bit his lip as his gaze scanned me, a slow up-and-down like he was assessing me for injury. Then, after a beat, heclapped a hand against the side of my neck and squeezed far too gently. “Let’s go get a drink at Zayd’s.”
“Alcohol is not the best idea for me right now,” I told him. “Trust me.”
His lips softened into a grin. “Order a Shirley Temple for all I fucking care, man. You’re my friend, okay? I’ll be off the clock in forty-five minutes. Then you can tell me everything.”
“Fine,” I said from behind a sigh, but suddenly, I was smiling too. I didn’t know how I got so lucky with him, but I knew friends like this were rare. At least, for me, they were. “But I’m serious about my sessions. I need new days.”
“Are you sure you want to make that kind of decis?—”
“Yes,” I interrupted before he could finish. God only knew when or if I’d be able to face Creek again. Definitely not until he got his shit together and figured himself out, and I didn’t have a lot of hope that would be before his deathbed. “Please just do it.”
“Fine. Text me your new work schedule since I know volleyball season just ended, and I’ll see what I can do.”
Nodding felt almost as painful as walking away from Creek’s soft lips and powerful hands because I hadn’t wanted it to end. But I also didn’t want to shatter my heart, and for as much as we’d spent all of our time hating each other, somehow, the little traitor beating away in my chest had decided to get attached.
And I wasn’t sure I was ready to give Creek up. No matter how much better it would be for us both.
Zayd’s bar was always busy since tourist season never really ended in the Bay area. It didn’t matter how cold or foggy we got. There were either the gays on a pilgrimage or the children of oldhippies trying to find all the Haight and Ashbury spots in their parents’ old photos.
The bar was the most inconvenient spot for me, considering it was also a forty-minute drive from my house, thanks to city traffic, but it was worth it to have a place that felt like home. It had been my first outing after getting back on my feet, and I never felt like some sort of zoo animal if I came through the door with one of my pant legs tied up, leaning heavily on crutches.
Zayd had been behind the bar that first day, welcoming me inside with a grin. And he was behind the bar now with the same expression. He beckoned me over as he adjusted a big, frilly bow that was pinned to his bun full of long curls, and I lifted a brow at him as I took my seat on my favorite stool.
“Do I want to know?”
He laughed, scratching at his short beard with a shy shrug. “I’m babysitting my niece for the week. My sister’s in Santa Barbara for a work conference thing.”
The few things I knew about Zayd were that his family was massive—like seven sisters and two brothers, and a shitload of kids between them—and they were not thrilled when Zayd decided to open a bar instead of choosing college. I was pretty sure they were all cool with him now—something that made me choke on jealousy because my family made it obvious they’d never forgive me for taking the path I did.
But I had no regrets.
“Hard or soft today?” Zayd asked.
My face flushed, even though I knew he was asking about my drink, and a small part of me wanted to make a quip about my dick because, yeah, definitely both. In spite of the way it had gone down between Creek and me, there had been a moment when all I could feel was his rough, powerful hands on me, and I hadn’t wanted it to stop.
Until I did.
“Hey, Heath. You okay?”
I glanced up at Zayd’s concerned tone and shook my head. “Not really, but I will be.” I thought about what Kent said and laughed to myself. “I’ll have a Shirley Temple.”
A credit to his profession, Zayd quickly threw the drink together without missing a beat or looking at me like he was judging me for ordering what his tiny, bow-loving niece probably did. He presented the glass with a little flourish—three extra cherries and a small pink umbrella.
“Thanks,” I muttered, pulling it close and taking a sip. I got a mouthful of grenadine and grimaced as I stirred the straw through the ice and tried again. It was still too sweet, but whatever. “How’s business?”
Zayd gave me a flat look. “You’re in here three times a week. You know how business is.”
I shrugged helplessly. “I need some kind of distraction, man. Today was fucking rough, and I’m waiting on Kent, who you know’s going to be late.”
